


only in the terrible lidless eye of memory

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulimia, Drug Use, M/M, Sadstuck, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Trigger warning:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...<i>are the dead visible.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am going to apologize for this fic in its entirety right now.

You can stare all you like.

The lights are off. Your window’s closed. The blinds are drawn. The door is locked. The house is silent. You are alone.

_Alone._

_Alonealonealonealonealone--_

So you stare.

You stare at the crimson that flows down your arm, a sick twisted parody of your fucked up life. So smooth, steady, absolute. Broken. Wrong. You watch as it runs down your arm and onto your fingers, dripping silently off of them and onto the tiled floor. You don’t bother to move. You’re making a mess, dirtying the place with your filth, but your body won’t react to your thoughts. So you sit there in your computer chair, your arm slung off the side of the arm rest, slowly creating crimson pools with your blood.

You can feel the tremors throughout your body. You clench your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering, but you can’t keep yourself from shaking. _Pathetic,_ your mind whispers. _You are pathetic. You are nothing. An accident, given a name._

_Living, but not alive. Breathing, but not by choice._

As if on reflex, your body forcefully inhales; a slow, shaky breath that pushes past your lips and reminds you that you are still alive. You can feel yourself itching for the feel of nicotine tickling the back of your throat, and you mentally curse for not having a cigarette on you.

You ran out two days ago. You haven’t left the house in twelve days. You haven’t eaten in three. You’re destroying yourself, but at least you can say that you aren’t actively adding lung cancer to the mix at the moment. Though if you’re honest with yourself, you wouldn’t mind picking up on that particular brand of poison.

You’re fucked up that way -- wishing for cancer. Wishing for a reason to feel the way you do. Wishing for a reason to die -- for a reason not to fight. You curse the world for bestowing you with a healthy body and a strong immune system, and what is wrong with you. You have so much at base value, yet you are pissing it all away.

Slowly, carefully, you lift yourself out of your computer chair and pad your way over to your full length mirror--the blood on your arm has hardened and dried in its place on your arm, and it now feels mildly uncomfortable every time you move it. But instead of focusing on it you stare at yourself in the mirror, and wonder why the fuck you are still even here.

Your shades are locked in place, obscuring your gaze and darkening your vision. You’ve still got the black shirt on from five days ago, and it hangs off you awkwardly because your lack of nutrition has left you lanky and sick-looking no matter what you wear now. Your gray boxers are even starting to fit a little less snugly, and you only frown. You reach your right hand -- your good hand -- up to your neck, and brush your trembling fingers carefully over the thin, bruised-in marks that are wrapped around like a thin little necklace.

They aren’t as visible as they were before, but you could still see them if you knew they were there. Leftover marks from your little ‘fun time’ with the string that you yanked from one of your hoodies; you’d wanted to see if it was possible to choke yourself to death. Maybe not even to death. You just wanted to feel what it was like to feel your breath leaving your body; to lay there, gasping, unable to taste the sweet relief of air.

Your mouth parts slightly as you press down gently on the marks, welcoming the small blossoming of pain that follows suit. You envision yourself lying there on the floor, body cold and stiff and unmoving, your chest still from where your breath has left you and your heart has stopped and you no longer have a mind to think with, it’s silent, _silent,_ and you are free and have been _released --_

You blink and the vision is gone, and all that’s left is the split-second nausea that creeps up through your empty belly and gives you only a moments notice to fumble with the lock on your bedroom door and dart your way into your bathroom and throw the seat cover up. You dry heave once, a low, quiet moan reverberating through the bathroom before your stomach makes another sudden lurch, and the water and apple juice from earlier is suddenly left splashing inside the bowl. Your body is still shaking, and you can feel your shades starting to slip off your face, so in one swift movement you tear them from your eyes and toss them into the sink.

You take a deep breath, try to steady yourself, but your body won’t have any of that. You are pathetic. You feel disgusting. Now that you’ve brought up some of the contents of your stomach, you can’t help but be alerted to the remaining liquid that is sloshing around in there. You sink down to your knees in front of the toilet, your legs no longer able to hold yourself up, and take a deep breath from your mouth. In the next moment you’re shoving your fingers down your throat and gagging, moaning, and the remaining liquid that was inside you is sent splattering inside the porcelain appliance in front of you. You gasp, breathing heavy in attempt to catch your breath, before you flush and shove yourself back against the tub.

You stare blearily around the room before you shut your eyes, blocking out the world as you ease yourself down onto the cold floor. Your body is still trembling, but you do your best to ignore it as exhaustion flourishes over you in a way that you are in no condition to fight. Not that you would want to.

The last thing that pecks at your ears is the muted jingle of your cell phone notification in the other room, but you don’t even have time to question it before you slip blissfully into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

You wake up much in the same way that you fell asleep; the sound of your text notification bringing you out of your slumber and alerting you to its presence. It takes blinking a few times to fully get yourself up, but you are soon pushing yourself off of the bathroom floor and making your way back to your room. Your phone light is still on from your last message, so you snatch it up quickly from its place on the bed and notice that you have 14 new messages.

dave, dude, where the fuck are you? we were supposed to hang yesterday!

okay very funny, you can stop ignoring me now.

daaaaaaaave!

Strider, I would appreciate a warning if you decide to suddenly drop off the face of the earth. It gives me much more time to learn to cope with the sudden loss of a vital part of my day.

you know you could have at least said something if you were going to bail out on us dave!! :(

okay this is starting to not be funny anymore, so can you please get back to me?

where are you? i came by your house the other day but you weren’t there, or at least didn’t answer the door. what’s going on?

HEY SHIT FOR BRAINS. WE ALREADY HAVE ONE FRIEND WHO LIKES TO LOCK HIMSELF UP FOR DAYS ON END SO THAT POSITION HAS DELIGHTFULLY BEEN TAKEN. THERE ARE NO EXTRA SEATS. SO GET THE FUCK UP AND ANSWER YOUR PHONE AND LET THE WORLD KNOW THAT THE INFAMOUS DAVE STRIDER IS STILL AMONGST THE WORLD OF THE LIVING.

Is everything alright? It is unlike you to go so long without speaking with anyone, even over text or instant messaging.

hello??

COOLK1D WH4T TH3 H3LL STOP 1GNOR1NG 3V3RYON3 >:[

I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT ANYTHING MIGHT ACTUALLY BE WRONG, BECAUSE YOUR EGO IS TOO BIG AND I FEEL LIKE EVEN ASKING WOULD GET ME A ONE WAY TICKET TO SMARTASSVILLE AND THAT IS SOMETHING THAT I REALLY DON’T FUCKING FEEL LIKE DEALING WITH. SO IF YOU COULD JUST, YOU KNOW, SAY ANYTHING TO SOMEONE THAT WOULD BE FUCKING GREAT.

dave seriously this isn’t cool.

Hey little dude. Get your ass up and make your way over to my place. If I don’t see or hear from you in an hour, I’ll be forced to make my way over to your place, and I think we both know that we don’t want that to happen.

The last message is from your brother, and you idly contemplate blowing him off before reason gets the better of you. He was right. The last thing you want is for your bro to come barreling over to your apartment and busting your door down.

You quickly check the time -- 1:20 PM -- and sigh. You hadn’t checked your phone in at least a week so your messages piled up, and you’re not even sure you want to take the time to respond to any of them. You do, however, shoot a quick text to your bro just to make sure that he doesn’t take your silence as a chance to come hunt you down.

calm your tits dude ill be over there soon enough

You press send, and throw your phone back down onto your bed. If you’re going to head over there, you at least need to make yourself presentable. Which means you need a fucking shower and violently brush your teeth, because you fell asleep with puke mouth and that is really fucking disgusting.

“God damn it.”

You curse into the empty room, and go forth to make something productive of your day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I was in the hospital for four days and then a mental hospital for a week, which was when I took the time to write this chapter out on paper. (It was in one of those composition notebooks that were supposed to be used for journaling, and with those tiny pencils that no one likes.)

“Now that you’ve done the grace of practically dragging me over to your shitty apartment, at least you can fork over a cigarette.”

Bro makes an unamused grunt, but otherwise shucks his pack out of his pocket with little protest. You pluck one out and dig your lighter out of your hoodie pocket in one quick movement and inhale, finally feeling the carcinogenic air prick at the back of your throat for the first time in days.

“That shit’s gonna kill you,” Bro grunts out as he flicks another cigarette out and plucks your lighter out from your fingers, lighting his own.

“That statement has little to no worth when you are literally being a hypocritical bastard, just so you know.”

Bro takes a long drag and holds holds in the carcinogenic air for longer than he needs to before exhaling -- you know he’s picturing a joint in his hand because that was always his vice. Smoking the cancer sticks only ebbed the craving.

“Do as I say, not as I do little man. It’s different when I see you taking those things in.”  
You shrug, and inhale once more, enjoying the small feeling of elation the thing gives off.

“Yeah well, I always did learn better by action then by word. Looks like you fucked up that time around.”

You watch as the ash builds up at the end of your cigarette and you flick -- watching as it falls down the side of the building you and your bro are sitting on. You watch the distance. The time.

You think about jumping. Not even jumping -- just slipping off the side and never looking back. Even with bro’s flash step, he’d never catch you. You’d be gone and would have a meeting with the concrete that would usher you to death’s sweet fucking embrace.

“Did I really fuck you up that much?”

His question catches you off guard, and makes you paranoid for a second that he could hear your thought. You take a quick glance at him from the corner of your shades, but of course his face reveals nothing. Usually this would be a comfort to you -- the stoicism was familiar -- a constant. But for some reason it bugged you today; it just itched at you the wrong way.

“You fucked up up ten ways to Sunday, dude. I was partially convinced that was pretty much the whole fucking point.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you don’t like where this s going. You only agreed to come over here because you didn’t have to be emotional -- jesus, an emotional bro was not something you could deal with. If he fucking tried to start something with you --

“Fuck, I know, but did I seriously do something wrong here that actually fucked you up mentally -- where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

\--You are so out of here.

“Away. I’m not doing this emotional shit. Too little too late.”

You don’t know why you tacked on that last tidbit, it wasn’t like you cared, but as you rose from your position off the side of the roof you feel a strong grip on your upper arm that holds you in place and prevents you from advancing.

“Well maybe I’m trying now. Did you ever think of that? Don’t just turn your back on me.”  
“Why.” The question is dead on your tongue and when you look back at your bro you can tell your tone has gotten to him. It’s in the way his grip tightens and his jaw clenches and some sick part of you is satisfied. You go to use your free hand to bring your cigarette to your mouth but the moment you do he knocks the thing out of your hand. You can’t help but feel a bit miffed.  
“Because obviously I went wrong somewhere,” Bro goes on, releasing your arm and standing in front of you. “Your idiotic Friend reached out to me. Thought something might have happened to you. And I thought they were worrying little shits until I got a good look at you for myself, Dave.” You flinch reflexively when you hear your name. “Sweatshirts can’t completely hide away how skinny you’ve gotten. You winced when grabbed your arm. Unless there was something there, that would have never happened. So I want to know. What the fuck. Is wrong with you.”

You stand there for a moment before you sneer, directing your gaze away from him. This isn’t any of his business.

“This isn’t any of your business,” your mouth echos, and you step aside to walk past him and towards the door leading to the apartment stairways.

You don’t know where he managed to pull a sword from.

You know you could have easily dodged him even at his speed.

You don’t know why you chose to just stare him down when he comes at you with every intention to strike you.

You hate the way his eyes narrow dangerously behind his shades when he stops in front of you, katana still raised.

You glare back up at him, and you know he knows.

“So _that’s_ how it is.”

You ignore bro’s quip and brush past him, entering the stareway.

Mostly you can’t stand his glare. That he understands.

That he realizes just how fucked up you really are.  
Within a moment of the door shutting and you tracking down the stares your phone goes off, and you have to laugh at the stupid message.

Don’t do it.

As if words could keep you at this point. As if they could be your saving grace.

So you walk on.

* * *

When you reach your apartment, you notice a red eyed black haired kid sitting curled up on your doorstep. He doesn’t seem to notice you immideatly, so you shove your hand in your pocket and call out to him.

“Th’fuck you doing there, Vantas.”

That seems to get his attention, and he rolls his eyes as he jabs a finger in your direction.

“I was waiting for you, you blithering sack of shit. No one has seen you in days, and people were actually starting to fucking worry about your dumb ass. And I was tasked with the glorious job of finding out why. So where in the ever loving fuck have you been?”

You raise an eyebrow. “At my bro’s. So, what, you were just planning on sitting there until I got annoyed enough at your dumb ass that I was forced to come out of my apartment and face you?”

Karkat starts to pull himself out of his sitting position and press himself back against your apartment door, brushing his jeans off as he gives you a look. One that could totally kill babies.

“Pretty much. I’ve used the same tactic on Sollux, and it has gotten me some pretty damn good results. So are you going to hurry up and let me in or what? Because sitting out here has been fucking boring, and I’m starving.”

You chuckle quietly under your breath and fish your keys out of your pocket, simultaneously nudging Karkat out of the way of the door so that you could shove your keys into them. You leave the door open as you walk in for him, and it’s only a moment later that you hear the door close behind you when you toss your keychain up into the little bowl on the breakfast bar.

It’s then that Karkat comes into your line of vision and starts opening up your pantry and frowning, and doing the same action with the fridge across the counter from you.

“How is it,” he starts, a scowl already adorning his features, “That you literally have no food in your pathetic excuse of an apartment.”

You mull the question over in your mind a few times before saying “You just came a bit late. I ate the last of the food last night, and I haven’t been to the store yet.”

It’s a half-truth. You really haven’t had a chance to get to the store. Or rather, you haven’t had the energy to get your ass up and go. And you ate the last of the home made pizza three nights ago, not last night. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Wow, you lazy fuck.”

Karkat kicks the door to the fridge closed and shuts the pantry as he makes his way out of the kitchen, and flops down on the couch in front of the tv. “If there isn’t anything here to eat, we’re ordering out. Chinese. Executive-fucking-decision, so make it happen.”

You really don’t feel like Chinese. The thought of it alone makes your stomach turn, but you blow it off by wiping your hoodied sleeve across your mouth.

Honestly, this used to be a thing that you and Karkat would do a lot. You’d congregate at one of your apartments and order out, gouging on chinese as you play each other at these shitty first person shooters. It was usually Karkat that ended up rage quitting by the end of it, and depending on the time, one of you would either head home or you’d crash at the designated place for the night.

It’s funny how those times feel so far away and disconnected from you now.

You slide your phone out and click the number of the restaurant that has been in your speed dial for as long as you can remember.

* * *

In the end, you ended up ordering the same thing you always get in order to evade suspicion. Sesame chicken and lo mein, alond with pad thai.

The only difference was that this time there were left overs, where usually there were none. Honestly, all you were able to force down were a few pieces of chicken and a bit of pad thai before you were at your limit. Karkat never said anything, so you just assumed that you were in the clear.

Of course, you proceeded to play the afformated shitty fps’s the whole time, which caused Karkat to seethe every time you got a headshot from your nice little camping spot. And your sniping spot. Which he still had yet to find, despite the number of times the map has come up.

“This is fucking bullshit,” Karkat mutters for what is probably the umpteenth time, and you struggle to swallow down the chinese that keeps threatening to make its way up your throat. “How do you keep finding me? I swear to fucking god I have scoped this whole damn place out fifteen billion times.”

“Magic quarters, Vantas. Can’t touch me where I am.”

You make your way up to your trademark tower before you realize the inevitable is about to happen, and you set your controller down muttering something like “Gotta piss,” and try to make your way to the bathroom smoothly while you listen to Karkat bitch about leaving mid session.

But once the door to the bathroom closes your on your knees in front of the toilet and throwing the seat up, and dry-heaving harshly into the porcelain appliance. You keep an ear open for what’s going on outside the door, to see if Karkat has somehow heard you, but to your luck you can still hear the game going and you close your eyes in exhaustion. It’s not a moment later that your insides crumble inside of you again and send you leaning up, the bitter taste of sesame chicken sloshing into the toilet that tasted far worse coming up then it did going down.

You knew this would happen, and you don’t even know why you tried to save face by eating. You could have said you weren’t hungry. That you picked something up while you were at bro’s. That you were still sick, and that was why you were held up at your house for so long. But of course those options never came to you when you needed them most, and now you were paying the price.

And then slowly, the worst thing possible happens, and you hear a gentle rapping at the door, which you didn’t lock in your haste, followed by a “Are you okay in there?”

You swallow down another bout of sick and mutter out a “I’m fine,” but even to your own ears it sounds pathetic and weak and exactly like someone who just threw their insides into a toilet bowl.

So you’re not surprised when you hear the door open and can practically feel Karkat’s gaze on you, and you don’t even have the energy to try to look presentable. You just have your head rested against the side of the toilet seat, the smell of your own bile wafting through your nose, and you hear Karkat cuss. You also hear him come towards you, and you really want him to just leave you alone to wallow in your own disgusting filth.

“Take your sweatshirt off,” He commands, and you bleary look up at him from behind your shades. He probably doesn’t even know that you’ve even acknowledged him. Either way though, it doesn’t seem to matter to him because he kneels beside you and carefully removes your shades and sets them on the bathroom counter, and for the first time since he entered, you meet his eyes.

You regret it in a heartbeat.

But in the next moment he’s helping you away from the toilet and helping you out of your red sweatshirt like you’re a child, and the worst part is that you let him. It’s degrading, but you feel too much like death to care, and it’s not long before the sweatshirt is tossed towards the opening of the door and you’re left bare in just your white short sleeved shirt. And you’re not blind. You see his eyes linger longer than they should on your arms, but he doesn’t say a thing.

Your world is spinning slightly now that you’re aware of everything, and it doesn’t take more of a moment for your stomach to do another lurch and Karkat is pushing you back forward towards the toilet, and this evenings pad thai is making its sedond coming. You gag several more times, and you can faintly hear Karkat whispering small phrases into your ear as he rubs your back, and you just want this whole experience to stop. There’s a part of your dignity that is slowly being squished into nothing, and you kind of really hate that.

“You totally don’t have to be here, dude,” you manage to choke out, your voice breathy and slightly nasily, and Karkat just snorts.

“You’re right, I don’t. But I’m not going to just let you flounder in your own sickness when obviously something has been eating at you enough to make you lock yourself away from the world. And if there’s any time to get it out of you, it’s when you are weak and don’t have the energy to protest.”

It takes your brain a moment to mull that over before your replying with, “Wow, you’re an asshole dude. But seriously. I look like shit. I’m a mess. You shouldn’t have to see this.”

And you mean that. There’s that pathetic little side of you coming out again, the one that usually stays hidden until you’re alone. Fuck him for bringing it out of you.

You can see him roll his eyes, but when he speaks to you, his tone is softer. “Please, Strider. You have to understand that I deal with Sollux on a daily basis. _Sollux_. And I’ve had to deal with Gamzee when he was so strung out on drugs that he didn’t even know which way was up and we didn’t know if he was going to die. So I think I can handle whatever you have to throw at me. Whatever it is, I won’t turn my back on you. I swear.”

You contemplate what he says, and you go to form some sort of an answer, but before you can you can feel sleep pricking at the edges of your mind and you let it take you. You’re faintly aware that you’re leaning yourself against Karkat in what is probably a really uncomfortable position, but at the moment, you doubt either one of you really care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is about to take a dark turn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seclusion.

When you wake up, it’s only to find yourself in your own bed with the sun already poking through your blinds -- black out blinds, mind you, but that doesn’t stop the day from peeking its way through the corners. It also doesn’t take a genius to figure out how you got here in the first place. Sometime within the last night Karkat must have carried you in here, and now that you’re in a sound enough mind, you can realize how embarrassing that is.

And you hate him. Especially for what he said.

_I won’t turn my back on you._

Fuck him. Fuck yourself. You don’t need someone to take care of you. You don’t need someone to understand you. You just need to be left alone.

Speaking of being left alone, you can see your phone beside you on your nightstand blaring off that annoying little blue light that signifies that you have a new message. So after rubbing your eyes and grabbing your shades that were also on the night table, you snatch the phone off of the charger and slide the thing to life, and see that you have two awaiting message from John.

so we’re still up for today, right? no ditching this time or anything?

there better not be any ditching. hell may have to be had if there is ditching.

You don’t recall making plans with John at all. Yet you have a sneaking suspicion about how they came to be. And with a quick scroll through your messages with John, you realize you are, indeed, right.

Karkat fucking Vantas, you are going to beat his ass next time you see him.

Though all this sits with you as having no reason to get out of bed. You didn’t make those plans with John; you have no reason to uphold them. Fuck, you don’t even want to _see_ him right now. Avoiding would be a pretty powerful word, but...you aren’t going out of your way to see the guy.

You just feel guilty. _He_ makes you feel guilty. He’s supposed to be your best friend, and you haven’t told him anything. How could you? So all that’s been happening is a small rift that is slowly pushing the two of you farther and farther away.

You hate it. It kills you. But you also know that this is for the best. The farther away from you he is, the safer. You can’t taint him any further than you already have.

Your phone goes off again, and this time it’s a message from Rose.

Get on Pesterchum. I know you’re there, and I want to have a conversation with you. I think that it would be infinitely easier than having me go all the way to your brother’s house, asking for a key, and letting myself into your apartment to speak face to face.

You know the threat behind her words is real, so with a groan you slide out of bed in the same clothes you were in last night and make your way over to your computer chair, and power on the device. Pesterchum starts up automatically, so there’s hardly a moments notice before the bright purple text assaults your screen.

tentacleTherapist [TT] has begun pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

[TT] Good. It seems that you have gotten my message.

[TG] no shit lalonde jesus do you know what fucking time it is

[TT] I do, it is twelve thirty, and that is a perfectly acceptable time for someone to contact you.

[TT] It is not my fault that you tend to have a warped sense of a proper sleep schedule.

[TG] yeah whatever

[TG] is there a point to this conversation or are you just here to poke jabs at when i decide to actually sleep

[TT] Of course. Are you having problems falling asleep usually?

[TG] too early for psycho-babble rose

[TT] But you are such an easy target, it is simply too hard to resist.

[TG] ha fucking ha

[TG] dying over here

[TG] please get to the point i want to go back to sleep

[TT] Don’t you have plans with John today?

[TG] no

[TT] That’s not what I was told.

[TG] well you fucking heard wrong

[TT] I am speaking with John as we speak, Dave.

[TT] He is under the impression that the two of you were supposed to meet today.

[TG] well guess what hes wrong

[TG] some douchbag got ahold of my phone last night and decided to make plans that i did not agree to.

[TT] I think this affirmative ‘douchbag’ had the right idea regardless.

[TG] too bad

[TG] sleep calls me

[TT] Dave.

[TG] nope not listening rose

[TT] I’m worried.

[TG] worry about something more cool

[TT] I thought you were the coolest thing out there?

[TG] im taking a break

[TG] gotta give others a chance at my coolness status

[TT] Please keep your appointment with John.

[TG] please stay out of my apartment

[TT] Only if you uphold your end of the bargon here.

[TG] im sick rose seriously

[TG] i spend the entirety of last night puking my brains out

[TG] i cant meet him today

[TG] your magical little source can attune for that

[TT] ...Fair enough, Strider.

[TT] You’re clear for today.

[TG] thank you your royal highness

[TG] now sleep calls me

[TG] later

turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

You push yourself away from the computer and in oe=ne fluid movement you’re out of your computer chair, hands itching for something to hold. You need to do something. You need this feeling to go away. Talking to Rose has put you on edge and now you don’t know what to do with yourself, and you need to stop _feeling._

You make a few strides to the side of your bed and pick something up off of the floor, a thin red string, and you quickly inhale and twist the thing around your neck and _pull._ You enjoy the feeling it gives you. The control. The lack of breath that is the complete opposite of the effect you get when you’re smoking, and you pray to the world to _release me, release me._ You get a high when you struggle to breathe, when the air that you desperatly need to live never comes.

Your hands pull at the string tighter, your chest heaves for air harder, and in one solid moment you drop the string from your hands and you _inhale._ You cough and you sputter and you gasp with your hand touching your throat, the lax string still dangling there harmlessly. You don’t know why you do this. Maybe it’s practice for when you finally decide to hang yourself in the bathroom. You don’t know; you don’t care.

You feel slightly better, but the itching hasn’t gone away. So you pad over to the other side of the bed and pick up a pack of camel crush, left to you by Karkat, god damn him, and knock the pack on the nightstand a few times before ripping the thing open and taking out a cigarette. Your lighter has been placed on the table as well so you crush the end of your cancer stick, releasing the menthal, and light it up right in your room. Though before you exhale you open the sliding door that leads to the balcony in your room and _breathe_ again, staring at the smoke that trails ahead of you as you foot the sliding door shut behind you.

Sometimes you just need to remember to breathe.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

You take another drag of your cancer stick and lean against the railing of the balcony, shaded eyes glaring out at the scenery. Sometimes you wonder what made you so fucked up. The nerve of you, right? You don’t have the right to act the way you do. Nothing’s wrong in your life. You’re not like Sollux -- you don’t have some brain disorder that makes you hear voices or flips your moods like it was a goddamn light switch. You’re not even strung out on drugs; the hardest thing you’ve ever even done is weed, and you’re pretty sure that doesn’t even count.

So what is _wrong_ with you? Why can’t you seem to figure these things out?

You take another breath of your cigarette and look down at the floors below you.

You could jump.

You really could. You could send yourself off the edge of this shitty apartment and hit the ground hard enough so that it splattered your brains all over the bottom lady’s front porch. You could do it and everything would be over. The moments where you can’t breathe. The moments where you need to hurt. The moments where you can’t bring yourself to eat because the food smells stale. The moments where you can’t stand the feeling of substance in your stomach. The moments where you can’t stand other people because you can’t stand the thought of them _existing_ on you.

You could do it and it all would be over.

_Exhale._

You’re still not calm yet. So when you think you hear the keys to a door open, you sort of want to bash whoever it is head in for disturbing you. It’s even worse when you hear someone calling a name you think you might be familiar with, and you can already feel your nerves being set on fire.

When you hear the side door being pulled open followed by the boyish exclamation of “Dave!” you nearly crush your cigarette -- your lifeline -- in your hands.

Instead, you settle for a low “Get out,” before taking another long drag of your lifeline.

From the corners of your eyes, and from an angle you know he can see you looking at him, John looks visibly confused. You want to punch him. No you don’t. You want to punch yourself. You want him to punch you. You want to _hurt._

 _“_ Dave? I know I came in uninvited but Rose said that I should probably check on you to make sure you were okay and your brother was more than willing to give me his spare key to your place-”

“I said get out.”

John doesn’t make any motion to move, so you turn so that you are able to face him completely; you’re avidly aware that you are shaking, but you can’t help that, so you just stare at him through your shades. You see John open his mouth to say something back, but his words seem to get caught somewhere between his brain and his eyes because he takes one good look at your arm and starts off with, “Dave, is this what you have been doing with yourself? Is that why there is blood on the floor? Look, we can _talk_ about this-”

“What part of _get the fuck out_ do you not understand?” Make him hurt. Make him understand. “We don’t need to talk about this. I don’t want to have some stupid feelings jam about this. I want to be left alone. So for the love of god, John, leave me the fuck alone.”

John’s eyes widen slightly before they narrow, this time locking on your shaded eyes. You make sure not to let anything like emotion pass over your face. John’s does enough for the both of you.

“No. You don’t get to be like this, Dave. You don’t get to push everyone away like this. Rose was right to send me over because she was worried because she made some sort of promise that _she_ wasn’t allowed to burst over here, but I was. She also told me that you weren’t the one to make plans with me, but she wouldn’t tell me who. _They_ were apparently on the right path. So don’t you _Dare,_ Dave Strider, try and push me away.”

Your eyes narrow behind your glasses and you take another drag of your cigarette, the filter burning the ends of your fingers and you embrace it before you toss the butt into the flower pot that holds the rest of them; your gaze never breaking from John’s.

“Did you ever think that maybe I’m just trying to get away from you?” your voice challenges, and you see something like surprise pass over John’s face, and you keep going. “Maybe it’s not the world that I am trying to push away, so don’t get so high and mighty with me. I don’t want to be with _you._ It’s _you_ that I have been trying to avoid. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you in my _life, John Egbert._ Do you think you can manage to understand that?”

You watch as he stands there, flummoxed, and you walk past him while making sure to brush past his shoulder. It sends flames up your arm and you can’t believe the things that keep coming out of your throat. You don’t mean a word of it. But you do. You mean it in the sense that he needs to stay away from him before you burn of him. He’s too good of a picture of you to taint.

Though before you get all the way past him, John grabs your left forearm and digs his fingers into it; it takes all the willpower you have not to cry out in pain but you do clench your jaw, and you know that it didn’t go unseen.

“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? Nine years and you’re going to end it all here over something that can be fixed?”

You don’t bother trying to tell him that something like this can;t be fixed.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t look at you, just stands beside you and stares ahead of you on the opposite side of you with his hand around your arm. But in the end he does let go, and he turns around without another word and opens up the sliding door to your room, and tosses something on your bed.

“Then that’s how it’ll be. Return the key to your brother. He’s where I got it from in the first place and to be honest I don’t want to see anything that has to do with you.”

And with that he walks out of your bedroom and you can hear him in the next room, and hear him open the door and slam it shut. You poke your head out of the upstairs patio and see him storming down the stairs, phone out and probably texting Rose or Jade or someone else that you don’t deserve to talk to. Word will reach the rest of your friends soon and you know your phone will be blowing back up, and you will ignore it just like you ignored it all before.

You walk back inside and stare at the key on your bed and decide it’s probably best there. You don’t need anyone else having a quick way into your place.

Oddly enough, you feel empty. John is gone. Your best friend. Your better half. The first person you met that you connected with even though it was originally online.

And he’s gone.

You flop down on your bed and prepare to lock the world away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story about how having people around you isn't always a good thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this took so long to write, honestly. So let's just pawn it off on writer's block, and leave it at that.❤

The messages on your phone did continue to go off after that. You contemplate just ignoring them like last time, but you decide otherwise. You don’t want any of them coming around anymore. You’ll make sure that none of them will ever want to.

Monday it’s Jade that contacts you, all harsh words and defending John like it actually meant something.

You promptly tell her off in a similar way that you told John, and you know you made her cry, but at least you didn’t have to see it. You were never good with tears. You were never good with destroying your friends either.

You can’t even call them your friends anymore. You lost that right the moment you started this.

Tuesday it’s Terezi, wondering why all your little friends are acting like they lost you. You tell her that you were just ending the little charade that you had going, and she calls you on your crap. You almost let her. But then you proceed to tell her that you were always just a side toy for Karkat and someone you could go to when things with Gamzee went awry and she gets angry, how dare you, and tells you that you can rot where you stand. You laugh at her through text and she doesn’t dignify you with a response.

Wednesday it’s Karkat and you can’t think of anything to say to him, so you say nothing. He continues to contact you but you stick to your silence.

Thursday hits and you realize that you can’t stand your own brain, so you get dressed and run your hand through your hair and slide your phone in your pocket while grabbing at your wallet and your keys.

You’re going to head over to Gamzee’s because you need something to take the edge off, you have a twenty in your wallet and you plan on using that to buy some weed if nothing else.

When you walk outside the sun burns your eyes from behind your shades, and you shove your hands in your sweatshirt pocket as you head down the stairs of your apartment. You know word has probably hit him about what you’ve done, and you’re probably not going to be his favorite person because one of the people you effected was Terezi. You really would have been shit out of luck if you had said something about Karkat, so maybe you did something right in making sure not to say anything to him yet.

He does live quite a bit away from you though and you really don’t feel like waiting for the bus, so you prepare to go for a little journey to get to his house.

Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get hit by a bus on the way.

Maybe. Just maybe.

* * *

When you reach the apartment complex that Gamzee lives at, you sigh at mild annoyance at the fact that he lives on the third story. Sure, you live on like, the fifth floor, but that wasn’t the point. You fucking hate stairs, and you have a headache, and you just want this day to be over with so you can probably find something else to rage about the next day.

So when you trudge your way up the stairs and make a hard left and knock on the door that’s suddenly in front of you, you realize at first that this trip might have been for nothing. Gamzee’s pretty aloof. He’ll disappear for days on end and nobody seems to know where he goes.

So when you hear a muffled ‘hold on’ coming from behind the door, you’re relieved, and a moment later the gray door is being swung open to reveal a rather tall and lanky man with facepaint covering his whole face. You always thought the whole thing was rather silly, but it was pointless to try and convince him to do anything different. Seriously. You had tried. You all had tried.

“My brother! How can I help you on this fine magnificent day?”

You give a small sideways smile and fidget with your hands inside your jacket. “Okay, you know. Just doing the Strider thing. You?”

His grin is infectious, even if it is accompanied by half-lidded eyes that you know are a bi-product of smoking way too much fucking weed. Seriously, the guy does it daily, and you are pretty sure that he is always somewhat blazed out of his mind. It’s amazing that he still even remembers to function.

“I’ve been doing pretty well myself, my friend. But something tells me you aren’t here on just a pleasure call.”

You shuffle your feet before replying “Yeah, you caught me. So tell me, you got anything for me?”

Gamzee’s grin widens slightly as he ushers you inside, stepping out of the way of the doorway so you can slink past him and stop by the small kitchen breakfast bar that is to the immediate right of the door.

His apartment isn’t very big; hell, yours is bigger than his. It’s basically only one room and a joined kitchen. He’s got his bed in the middle a bit off to the side by one of the windows on the far side of the room, and a flat screen TV directly on the wall in front of it. Beside the bed and in front of you is a small couch, and then there’s a small kitchen pooling in from the room that you wonder has ever been used for proper food or just rolling joints.

Gamzee comes back after closing the door and enters the kitchen, standing in front of you from the other side of the breakfast bar as he leans his elbows on the small bit of the granite counter. “So, my friend, what can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a twenty in my pocket. I was hoping I could get some weed, whatever you have, unless you have something different. I just need something to take the edge off.”

He stops for a moment and looks to be contemplating something, before he reaches under the counter and pulls open one of the drawrs and brings out a small plastic bag. You can’t really tell what’s in there, only that it looks like it’s a bundle of small pieces of paper or something, so you give him a quizical look.

“I’ve been hearing some things from my wicked sis Terezi and I think that this might be what you need to set you back on your feet. You interested?”

You study the bag for a few more beats before you eventually give up and realize that you have no idea what could be in there. “I trust your judgment. But do you mind telling me what it is?”

He opens the bag and pulls out a sheet of the paper and breaks off two small sections of it, and holds it out to you. You open your hand so that he can place the pieces of paper in your hands, and you draw back to look at them. There’s nothing extraordinary about them; they’re just two small tabs that are blank on one side, and the other side has a rather bizarre array of colors on them. You still have no idea what they are; but then again, you’re not much for drugs. You do weed, but that’s as far as your knowledge goes.

“These babies are called 25-i. They’re safe, don’t worry bro. I wouldn’t go all up and try and poison you. They’ll just make you feel real good for a good few hours depending on how long you keep them applied.”

You flip them back and fourth between your fingers. You’ve never heard of this before, and you didn’t even know that Gamzee had something like this. He’d never mentioned it before.

“How do you take it?”

Gamzee zips closed the rest of the small baggie and shoves it back into the drawer and directs his attention back at you.

“Real easy bro. Just use a paper towel or something to dry out part of the top part of your gums and place one -- only one -- of the tabs on that section, colored part down. The paper towel is to dry out your gums so that the tab sticks and doesn’t slide around in your mouth. It’ll take a bit to kick in, say about thirty minutes, but you’ll know that it starts working its wicked magic when you start tasting a chemical like taste in your mouth. Just keep it there for as long as you see fit. It’s a personal choice when to take it out, but you’ll know when it loses its effect if you do it for as long as possible. Real easy bro. No worries. And it’ll make you feel like the world is made of miracles.”

You take another look at the two tabs in your hand before fishing out your wallet and opening it up, sliding the two slips in one of the empty sections that are meant to hold cards. You’re actually pretty interested in trying this, truth be told. You wonder what it’ll be like. So you shove your wallet back into your pocket and give Gamzee a small grin, throwing a thumbs up at him as you head back to the door.

You don’t see a reason for staying here longer than you need to. You never have, and Gamzee doesn’t take it personally.

“Thanks dude. You’re probably, like, a lifesaver. Catch you later?”

He grins at you and gives you a small nod of his head, and you open the door without another word and shut it gently behind you. Regretfully, with how things are going with the rest of your “friends,” you probably won’t be able to keep up your connection with him for very much longer.

Oddly enough, this doesn’t bother you as much as it probably should. You’re okay with being alone.

You probably wouldn’t even survive very long without anyone anyway. So the sooner that you lose everyone, the sooner that you can lose yourself.

* * *

When you get back to your apartment, you lock the door behind you. Usually you don’t really bother when your home until you’re going to sleep, but you really don’t want anyone to come in and try to slip in, like they have in the past. And now that nobody has a key, not even your brother, you know that you won’t be disturbed this time around.

So you make your way into the kitchen and snag a paper towel from the holder on your counter and rip it off, walking back to your room in silence as you close the door behind you, too. You don’t bother locking this one though. You don’t really see a point in it after all. So you flop down on your bed, one knee crossed under the other that is positioned over the side of the bed, and you take your wallet out of your pocket and pick out one of the small white tabs.

“Just rub the paper towel on a section of my gums and plop the thing down on it, huh...Sounds easy enough. Least I don’t have to worry about coughing and shit.”

You bunch the paper towel around the pointer finger on your right hand and begin to rub the upper part of your gums right above the tooth to the right of your front two, and realize that you actually sort of hate doing this. It feels uncomfortable. But you’re half paying attention to it and you’re not sure how long you are supposed to keep it up for, so you pull it away when it sort of feels like cotton and when you look down at the paper towel, you realize there’s a bit of blood on it.

_Oops_ , you think to yourself rather sarcastically, slightly bemused at the fact. Setting the thing down beside you on your bed, you pick up the tab that you had pulled out and examine it, flipping it over on your finger so that the colored part is facing up. Doing as Gamzee instructed, you place the thing on the dry part of your gums and let it sit there, wondering how anything like this would ever manage to get anything in your system. _Something about the saliva breaking it down? Gums absorbing whatever is in the tab? Fuck, I have no idea. This is why I could never fucking get into drugs. I don’t understand any of this shit._

He said thirty minutes, so you guess you have some time to kill. You contemplate getting on the computer, but the thought of being there kind of makes you a little sick, because you know your pesterchum would be sitting there right in the open, beckoning you to sign in. You don’t need that sort of shit right now. You’re ignoring the world.

So instead, you push yourself up off your bed and open your bedroom door, stepping into the living room. You decide that you might as well play some video games to pass the time, since you essentially have nothing better to do with your time.

Fuck, you never realized how often you spoke with your friends until you try to avoid them. Fucking stupid, you think to yourself bitterly, turning on your PS3 and popping GTAIV in. Might as well go on a murdering spree while you wait. Because why the fuck not? You’d like to kill people in this world, but you sort of don’t want to go to jail. Usually when this impulse came you would just go to your bro’s and you’d strife for a bit, but it’s not like you can exactly do that at the moment. Not even you and him are on good terms.

_That’s right, Strider. Isolate yourself from everyone in the fucking world, even your damn brother. You’re a fucking saint._

You settle back into the couch with the controller and maneuver through the menu, selecting your last save file.

Fuck the world. You’ll just shoot and beat the shit out of people on this thing while driving down streets like you’re a fucking madman with a death wish.

You really hope this fucking shit kicks in soon. You need to stop _thinking._

* * *

You feel. Amazing.

That ‘chemical’ taste that you had at first was fucking disgusting, you’re not going to lie. You’re pretty sure that medicine doesn’t even taste that bad. And it’s not like you could drink anything to wash the taste away, because you realized that your fridge was fucking empty. Like the tool you are, you forgot to go shopping.

And you’re a bit of a priss when it comes to water. There was no way that you were going to drink from the tap. No. Fucking. Way.

But after swallowing the disgusting taste in your mouth for a while, it eventually subsided. And before you knew it, while you were shooting people up in your stupid game, you started to feel really, _really_ good. Like your body was light as a motherfucking feather, and you could just float off the Earth.

And then there was the matters of the colors.

They were fucking everywhere.

Like, floating and shit. Your TV seemed a lot more vibrant, like things were just...floating off of the pixels and mixing in with the real world. You have no idea what to think of this, other than that it is fucking _awesome_.

But you are fucking thirsty. And you need something to drink, but you really don’t want to go shopping. So you’ll figure that you’ll just pop down to the circle K near your apartment complex and grab some apple juice or maybe a water or some of that Ice shit that everyone has been going on about for some reason. (you can’t deny it, some of the flavors are actually pretty good.)

So you press pause on your game and stand up -- woah, you feel weird -- and walk to the counter to grab your wallet again as well as your phone, and notice that you have more text messages from Karkat, and even a few from Rose. There’s one from Gamzee, surprisingly, which just has one sentence written on it.

hOw YoU fEeLiNg BrO? :o)

You chuckle slightly and type in a fast response, which is a little hard because your hands are shaking and shaky hands plus a touch screen does not mix very well, but you manage to get out a pretty coherent sentence, so in your book, mission accomplished.

like a million fucking stars in the galaxy dude

thanks

With that, you slip your phone in your sweatshirt pocket and your wallet in the back pocket of your pants, and fish your keys out of the bowl and head out the door.

The moment you get outside, you grin like a fucking idiot, because even with your shades obscuring your gaze, the trippy ass colors are still floating around you.

You decide, that this is going to be an interesting walk.

* * *

When you get to the corner store, you initially have a bit of trouble opening the door -- mostly because your dumbass self tried to push on the wrong side of the door. You haven’t ever done that before, but then again, your brain functions are usually a bit higher than this. And you find it fucking amusing.

You’re finding a lot of things amusing at the moment.

But when you finally get inside, you have to blink a few times for your eyes to adjust, and you make your way over to the drink section without saying much of anything. You look through the assortment of drinks, and decide that you are, indeed, getting apple juice.

Because why the fuck not. That shit is amazing.

You again have a bit of trouble pulling it from its place in the fridge due to your shaking hands, but eventually get a good enough grip on it to pull it out, and you feel like a million bucks when you do. For some reason, the smallest of things are making you feel like you’re on top of the world.

You really fucking love this shit that Gamzee gave you. Mental note, ask for it again if you ever get the chance.

You’re about to turn around and head for the front counter, when someone’s voice calls out your name, and it takes you a moment for it to register in your head.

“Dave?”

When you turn around to locate the sound of the voice, you spot it coming from the spot next to the coffee machines. And standing there, with a coffee cup in her hand and an upwards arched eyebrow, is one of the last people that you think you probably want to see right now, especially with how you are.

“Sup Rose.”

She eyes you for a moment, looking from your shades down to the hand that is currently holding the bottle of juice, and trembling like someone set your body to vibrate mode. Instinctively, you lean your arm closer to the side of your body in order to try and quell the shaking, but it doesn’t work very well. It stops a little bit, but you know that she can still see it.

She moves over closer to you, dressed in a simple white shirt and a purple skirt with black leggings, and she looks over you for a moment before setting her eyes back on your shades, trying to get a look of your eyes.

“Dave, are you okay? You’re shaking.”

You can hear the concern in your voice, and you feel a little bad. But not much. Because you still feel amazing, even though you realize that you should be apprehensive about speaking to her, given how you have essentially been telling off all of your friends one at a time for the past few days.

But you and your feelings are a bit...disconnected, so you’re having trouble making the connections.

“Yeah, dude. I’m fine. Terrific even, thanks for asking, now lets move on. I only stopped here to get a drink, I don’t really have time to talk, you know. Shit to do and things like that. We’ll talk later maybe.”

You turn to walk away and leave her there, but the moment you do, she snatches up your free left arm and you freeze, instinctively.

“Somehow I doubt that. You seem to be acting strange, Dave. Are you on something?”

You laugh at this, turning back to her. “Nah, dude. I’m fine. Not on anything.”

Her face remains neutral as she speaks. “Take off your glasses then, Strider.”

You don’t think much of it, so you roll your eyes behind your shades and take your arm back from your grip and slide your shades down your nose, blinking a few times as you adjust to the sudden burst of light that surrounds you as you angle your red-eyed gaze at her. Rose’s violet gaze stares right into you, and if you weren’t indeed on something, this exchange would probably make you feel uncomfortable. But at the moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care less.

You also couldn’t keep your gaze from drifting to the violet waves that were emanating from her eyes, trailing up from them up to her hair and into the wind, like they were glowing or something. You think it looks fucking awesome.

“Dave, your pupils are the size of pinpoints. I can hardly see them.”

You shrug and pull your shades back over your eyes, a bit thankful for the protection from all the bright lights. As cool as it was, everything was a bit too bright without your shades covering your eyes and obscuring everything.

“It’s because it’s bright outside.”

“I’d believe that if it weren’t for the fact that I checked my makeup in the mirror when I came over here, and mine were no way that pinpointed. So I’ll ask again, Strider, what are you on?”

You shrug, turning away from her as you offer a small sideways smirk as you make your way to the counter that isn’t too far from you. “Nonya. Just having a bit of fun. I hardly think that it’s any of your business, Lalonde.”

She lets you go this time, but you can hear her following behind you as you set your drink on the counter and fish out your wallet, pulling out your credit card as the cashier tells you your amount due.

“I think that your behavior over these past few weeks is unacceptable. What are you trying to accomplish? All you are doing is isolating yourself from everyone with your remarks, are you aware of this? This is more than you have ever done before, beyond simple jabs and jokes. I think something is going on, and I would appreciate it if you would just let me in.”

You tell the cashier that you don’t need the receipt, and take one last look at Rose before you start to walk.

“It’s none of your business. Honestly, I’m getting a little sick and tired of you sticking your nose in everything that I do. So if you wouldn’t mind, butt the fuck out. I’m doing this because I want to. I don’t need any of you idiots hanging around me, and I’m finally doing what I should have done a long time ago. So stay away from me, stay out of my life, because for the love of god, I am tired of it. Tired of all your bullshit, and tired of theirs as well. That’s the only thing that’s going on. The fact that I don’t want you people in my life. Don’t try to analyze that, because I pretty much just spelled shit out for you in plain English.”

You turn and walk away, pushing the door open as you toss your head back to give her one last look. “I don’t need you. I don’t need them. You’re fucking holding me back, and I need to spread my fucking wings. I’m tired of pretending. So just butt the fuck out.”

And with that, you walk back out into the street and make your way home.

Even with all the shit you said, you feel amazing. You’re glad you did it. You’re glad you did it now.

You don’t need anyone.

You never did.


End file.
